


Sticks and Stones

by definitelynotgay



Category: Fall Out Boy, Frank Iero and the Future Violents (Band), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Desolation Row, Angst, Asshole Frank Iero, Asshole Gerard Way, Blood and Violence, Bottom Gerard Way, Crimes & Criminals, Eventual Smut, Gay, Gay Sex, Gun Violence, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, Homophobia, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, Light Sadism, M/M, Masochism, Nazis, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Slow Burn, Smut, Sorry i made bert kind of a creep in this, Tattoo Fixation, Threats of Violence, Top Frank Iero, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:01:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24116203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/definitelynotgay/pseuds/definitelynotgay
Summary: Mob boss Frank Iero pretty much owns all of northeast new jersey, including most of the music venues. Gerard, Mikey, Bob and Ray have a band called Box Nyfe and they're small but growing bigger everyday, their fans are crazy during shows. They have a show at one of frank's venues and they absolutely trash the place which is a huge mistake.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Mikey Way/Pete Wentz
Comments: 24
Kudos: 92





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys it's Sami aka literalrat2 on twitter! Here's my absolute brainchild of a full length fic, I've had it outlined for months and I am beyond excited to see what people think! 
> 
> Frank's a mob boss that owns nearly all the music venues in Jersey, Gerard is a masochist asshole punk singer that chooses the WRONG venue to trash.

"Alright you nasty fuckers!" A ragged voice blasted from the speakers of the dark smoky venue, it's owner pacing back and forth onstage larger than life. "For this next song, I want you to lose your fucking minds!"

A mosh pit roiled uncontrollably at the barricade, a vaguely human mass of roaring, spitting, and grasping hands that pounded with the beat. One moment, the security guards were pulling two aggravated skinheads off each other, and in the next dragging a young and naive looking girl with thick eyeliner and a bloodless complexion from the ocean of bodies.

Gerard Way, the unabashed leader with a microphone in his hand, grinned at the chaos before him. He leaned over to pick up a bra that had just been thrown onstage from somewhere in the crowd, holding it up above his head between his thumb and pointer fingers and shouting into the microphone, "Oh, for me? You shouldn't have…" He put the microphone back on the stand, digging around in his pockets and pulling out a lighter. "Unfortunately there is no way this is my cup size, so I've got no use for this."

The crowd went wild as Gerard clicked the lighter a few times before setting fire to the plain black bra, holding it up for everyone to see as the flames flicked around the lace and into the cup. The tall, wiry bassist to the left of Gerard shook his head, minding his own and rocking out despite his brother's endless vamping. The guitarist to Gerard's right seemed perfectly content to wait for his cue, occasionally glancing over from behind his mass of curly brown hair. And at the back of the stage, the burly blonde drummer kept a steady and rapid beat, nodding along as if the spectacle in front of him was commonplace for a Friday night in Jersey. Which it was, for a show from local punk band Box Nyfe.

The flames ate away at the bra, coming dangerously close to burning Gerard's fingertips, casting an orange glow on his demented and pointy toothed smile. He took his time watching the fire grow before tossing the whole thing onto the stage like a discarded cigarette butt with a flick of his wrist directed at the drummer.

"Ah-one! Two! One two three and-!!" A frenetic drum fill shattered the already wild crowd, and Gerard jerked his head back and threw it forward to the beat, messy black hair plastering itself to his forehead. It was near the end of the show, but Gerard had been viscerally sweaty since about the third song. He jumped into the lyrics without skipping a beat, eyes wild and tearing across each face within the first few rows. He worked the crowd like a preacher at a revival, some part of his body thrashing to the beat at all times.

Every salacious movement brought cries from groupies in Box Nyfe merch, each fist Gerard pounded in the air was met with dozens more from the crowd in return. No one person remained at the front against the barricades for long, getting sucked back into the crush of bodies each time.

The bra was completely engulfed in flames and scorching the ground beneath it by the time Gerard noticed it again. Or at least by the time the bassist stepped forward and shoulder checked Gerard, jerking his chin towards the flaming pile without a word then stepping back into his own space without missing a single note. Gerard looked back at his brother with mock surprise as he sang, putting a hand on his hip and looking at the scorched patch of stage with mild interest before stomping it into a smoldering heap and returning to his impassioned performance. The crowd fed off his unhinged bastard energy, pressing against the barricades despite the security team's forceful shoves and booming voices that could barely be heard with the speakers at full volume. Somewhere in the crowd, a brawl broke out between two groups of punk rockers, but the commotion was easily swallowed by the hype of the guitarist's absolute shredder of a solo. People sprayed water bottles over everyone around them, some taking a drink just to spit it directly in the air. 

The song ended, and Gerard propped one foot on top of a speaker, letting the applause wash over him with a look of ecstasy as his bandmates behind him waved to the masses to acknowledge the ear splitting approval. Gerard looked offstage and saw the venue manager Pete looking more than mildly alarmed at the chaos that the show was creating. But the roar of the crowd was too much to resist as the magnanimous leader walked over and gave his brother a playful shove before counting down the final song with a finger wag at the drummer. 

\------------

"Thank you for coming out, we are Box Nyfe!"

Most of the crowd began to disperse as the band members left the stage, or at least milled about. A group of mostly girls and a few stringy haired guys seemed hesitant to leave the floor, throwing watchful glances at the backstage door. Gerard started doling out high fives to every person he encountered, band members and venue staff alike.

"Great fucking show guys!" He was beaming, turning around and finding his brother immediately. "Mikey, we fucking killed it! Good job everyone!"

The lanky bass returned the high five with much less manic energy, a satisfied smile on his face nonetheless. "You nearly burned the place down you crazy bastard!!"

Gerard just laughed before whirling around to give a sound guy a high five, already noticing Ray and Bob making their way towards the table stocked with water bottles and snacks. Making his way over to congratulate them, someone called his name and Gerard turned to see the venue manager, Pete Wentz.

"Hey, man, what'd you think?"

"Shit, man, our crowd loved you out there! Which is great for a first show! Are you like, okay? It was intense out there, with the fire and everything. You're just lucky Mr Iero wasn't here tonight to see that..." 

"Oh I'm all good, I do that shit every other night, but thanks!" Gerard laughed it off. The corner of Pete's mouth twitched but he just slapped a hand on his shoulder with a nod, looking over the singer's shoulder as his eyes lit up.

"Mikey! Great show, dude…"

After a few minutes to catch their breath and congratulate each other, the boys left the backstage area. Gerard was about to bring up going to a bar down the block when they walked through the front door to find the same group of people that had taken longer to filter out. Four or five girls had eyes only for Mikey, and walked directly over to him. Only one or two of them were sober enough to walk a straight line over.

\------------

"Mikey!! Mikey, hi!"

"Dude I admire you so much, you fucking shred at all of your shows, I was at your show last month across town at the fuckin' uh, Sand Viper, then I saw your set at Wrat Fest back in September!"

"Bob man your kit is sick as shit I'd kill for such a nasty set up!"

"You guys were so awesome, can I get a picture with you Gerard?"

\------------

The greasiest, stringiest of the guys approached Gerard, the camera opened on his phone and eyes hidden under brown bangs masking most of his face. Gerard looked around at the handful of people trying to talk to him, but the dude right in front of him had taken the first step, so he smiled at him and nodded. 

"Sure. What's your name?"

"Bert, I've been listening to you guys for like a year, I bought a CD after one of your garage shows and just fell in love with your voice and the whole band." He rambled, handing his phone to a girl and putting his arm around Gerard's shoulders. Freezing in discomfort, Gerard's eyes flicked up towards Bert before his brain started working again in time to smile for the camera. 

The girl took a couple shots then lowered the camera, and an extra beat passed before Bert let go of Gerard with a squeeze to take his phone back. Shit okay, that's fine I'm fine with that, he thought, giving Bert a small smile again before moving on. 

After taking a couple more pictures with two girls who didn't make him feel so offput within his own personal space, he slipped away for a moment. He ducked past Ray and Bob talking to several enthused fans, one of whom was clutching Bob's drumsticks to her chest as she watched him with adoration.

"Do you three have a safe way to get home? You're looking a little tipsy…" Mikey was asking ⅗ of the girls surrounding him, still looking cool as ever leaned against the brick wall of the building. 

Gerard could see what made the girls all lose their minds over Mikey. If I were were that fucking tall, with any jawline to speak of, there might be more guys waiting to talk to me, instead of possum looking dudes that put their arm around me like I won't punch them right in the fucking dick.

"We're fine, you're so sweet for asking, though, Mikeyyyyyyyy…" The drunkest of the girls was practically rubbing her face into Mikey's shirt, but Mikey was unphased.

"We should probably head over to the bar, now, you guys ready?" Gerard asked Mikey, nodding to the girls with his lips pressed together before looking back at his brother with his eyebrows raised. 

The two sober looking girls perked up, nodding and beaming at the brothers. So did the drunk girls, only a second later as they took far to long processing what Gerard said. Mikey stopped leaning against the wall with a frown. "Wait, guys, I'd love to hang out with everyone, but I could never in good conscience let you three have more to drink tonight. Here, let me call you a cab…Gee, you and the others can go ahead and started heading down."

There were cries of disdain, he was unaffected as he pulled his phone out and dialed the number. Gerard turned and lead the rest of the group down the sidewalk. The drunk girls were going on about missing their chance to hang with the band, when Pete walked out, coat in hand. Mikey turned the speaker away from his mouth as it rang, shouting down the sidewalk. “Hey! Pete! I’m getting these girls a cab home, but can you remember their faces? Let them in for free tomorrow night, as long as you cap them off at two drinks! If you guys aren’t too drunk at the next show you can come out with us then, okay? I promise.”

The ultimatum seemed to satisfy the drunk girls, but they still slouched and mumbled dejectedly in a huddle as they waited for the cab to arrive. Mikey turned and jogged a couple steps to catch up with the band, and the two girls deemed sober enough to join immediately latched onto him from either side, positively beaming. 

\------------

The Tower was normally the place to be, the most reputable venue in the tricities with an equally reputable history. Unless, of course, you were part of the team cleaning up after a certain show that left the place trashed. 

Pete Wentz, general manager of The Tower, had abandoned his clipboard and ever present cell phone the second he walked in the next morning and saw the mess. The biggest issue at hand wasn't the inch deep layer of trash covering the floor, or the disgusting state the Box Nyfe fans left the bathroom in- it was the massive fucking scorch mark left on the stage. The residual smoke and black smudge left on the ceiling as a result was a problem, as well. Dispatching two of his five available workers to try and do something about the damage, Pete dived into filling trash bag after trash bag himself, before his boss came in for the day. 

Actually, Frank Iero was more the boss and not just Pete's boss, but Pete was more his employee than anyone else on the team. Mr Iero managed all of his 'business prospects', and Pete was technically in charge of one of those prospects. And by God did Mr Iero manage Pete. 

"Mikey and his dumb fuckin' band…trying to get me fired and God knows what else…"

"What the fuck is this? What the fuck is this?" The bewildered voice that came from the side door made Pete freeze in place, dread filling his chest. He had hoped to have more done.

Mikey and his dumb fucking band. I'm gonna kill that glasses-ass bastard. Pete cursed the bass player in his head as he turned to face his boss, half full garbage bag in hand. Mr Iero was never seen wearing anything but a black suit, crisp lines covering arms filled with ink, which creeped down onto his hands.

It made him look dangerous, which he was. From every angle he was a threat, the kind of man you knew was dangerous even without the silver handle peeking out from his waistband. He sauntered through the door, looking around with a coffee in one hand and the other gesturing at the obviously trashed venue.

His sharp green eyes landed on his stage.

"Hey Wentz. I said what the fuck is this??"

The cleaning team were all watching out of the corners of their eyes, continuing to clean and act like they weren't there. Pete looked around at the mess, seeing exactly why Mr Iero was so pissed. 

"I...last night's show got pretty rowdy…"

Raising his eyebrows, Mr Iero let out a short and bitter laugh that cut through the air, "Oh they got rowdy? They got rowdy, and security just let it happen? What the fuck kind of business do they think I run, and why is there fire damage on my stage?"

"That, I...the band got out of hand, too, and after a girl in the pit threw her bra onstage, it got set on fire...eventually the lead singer stomped it out, though…"

"Oh, fan-fucking-tastic, sounds like a goddamn genius, can't wait to meet this guy. Who was it, who played here last night?"

Pete looked around for a person he could just switch lives with, but everyone else in the room was busy cleaning and pretending to be deaf. "That band I told you about last week, they're called Box Nyfe."

"Box Nyfe? When the hell did you book these guys and when did you run that shit by me?" Frank was livid, but Pete had known him long enough to realize his anger had shifted from him to the band, which filled Pete with a new kind of dread. Dread for what he knew was gonna happen the next time Gerard walked through the front door.

"I asked last week, the lead singer's brother is a bass player and good guy, vouched for him and I booked them two nights in a row. In fact-" Pete scratched his head, "The dude that set the bra on fire should be in here later to get paid."

Frank pressed his lips together calmly and nodded, but something in his jaw twitched as he walked past Pete and towards the stairs leading up to his office. "Send him up when he gets here."


	2. some absolute bastards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was partially cowritten by @bxydivxsion on twt bc I didn't feel comfortable reclaiming certain slurs! I will also be putting tw for certain things at the beginning of each chapter
> 
> Lemme know what you think!!
> 
> tw/ slurs, violence, blood

Gerard was never up this early, and the hangover didn't make it any better. The show had been such a hit last night that him and the other guys felt they had earned getting hammered without worrying about the money. But that also meant that Gerard needed to go pick up their check from The Tower as soon as possible.

Despite his headache, Gerard wasn't in a bad mood at all as he walked down the sidewalk towards the venue. Mikey and Pete had been right when they had first told him about the gig-these shows were the turning point. If they played their cards right, Box Nyfe could quickly become a force to be reckoned with in New Jersey. They just had to try their hardest not to fuck it up.

The Tower still looked sick, even without the display board lit up. Gerard felt a small smile tug at the side of his mouth as he chucked his empty coffee. It felt empty inside without the crowd, just an empty stage and pit occupied only by a crew of people toting massive garbage bags stuffed with trash. Seeing Pete among the cleaners, Gerard called out.

“Hey! Yo, Pete! How’s it going?” Pete set the bag down and walked over to Gerard, eyebrows furrowed. “You guys clean up nice, the place is looking great!”

“Yeah, thanks, we-” 

Pete was cut off by a loud and confident voice coming from the set of stairs leading to the upstairs office. "Gerard Way! You must be Gerard Way, am I right?"

Turning towards the friendly yet sharp voice, Gerard came face to face with the hottest fucking man to ever wear a suit in Jersey, quite possibly the world. Gerard smiled widely, wiping his palm on his jeans before offering his hand. "Yeah, the one and only, haha."

"Frank Iero, an absolute pleasure to meet you." Frank shook his hand firmly, with a razor sharp glint in his eyes. "Heard the show was a rager last night, sure reeled in the ticket sales, huh?"

"Yeah, it was wild, the fans really pulled through! Pete, too, this was a great venue, thanks a lot man…"

"I bet-" Frank shot Gerard a blinding smile that was a little too wide, "that you're here to get paid, aren't you?"

Gerard ducked his head good naturedly, with a shy smile, "You caught me!"

"I knew it!" Frank laughed, clapping a firm hand on his back. "Come on up to my office we'll get you straightened out…"

\------------

"So, do you wanna explain what the fuck happened to my stage down there?" Frank still sounded friendly if a bit disappointed, and it made Gerard feel a little guilty. 

"Yeah, we uh, haha we get pretty rowdy onstage, I'm sorry about that. It's like a huge draw of our shows, we go pretty feral." Gerard shrugged.

Frank unlocked one of his drawers, pulling out a checkbook and slipping it into his pocket. He stood and walked to the side of his desk, leaning against it easily with his arms crossed. "Well do you plan on paying the cost of repairs?"

"Oh. I uh, I'm sorry, man, but Mikey, the guys and I are barely making rent, that's why we're doing these shows-I mean we love performing but it doesn't make for good eating, y'know?" Gerard scratched the back of his neck, looking away.

"Oh!" Frank's mood switched back to friendly with alarming speed, and Gerard's eyes snapped up to see the same massive smile he had been greeted with. "Oh, okay! That is 100% fine don't even worry about it! Fuck me, right? Haha no you're all good, forget I even mentioned it, alright?"

Gerard looked at him skeptically, slowly lowering his hand. "Really?"

"Yeah, for sure! Hey, Gerard, right? I'm dying for a smoke, do you smoke?"

"Yeah, I do-" Relief started sleeping into the frontman's chest, and he let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

"C'mon, let's go out back and have a smoke, I'm itching for one!" Frank took off his suit coat, hanging it off the back of his chair and slipping his pack of cigarettes out of the inner pocket. Gerard tried his hardest not to stare at the blurry but evident tattoos through his white button up-there were a lot of them.

Pete nodded at them as Frank led Gerard towards the side door leading out back, following them with his eyes for a moment before turning back to his cleaning. He seemed anxious.

Gerard slipped a cigarette between his lips as he stepped out the door, pausing in the middle of the alley and pulling his lighter out. He clicked it a few times, cupping one hand around the struggling flame. "Hey, thanks for being so cool about this by the way, I didn't think you'd let me off that easy…"

"Like I said, not an issue." Frank answered from somewhere behind him. Frowning, Gerard tried to no avail to light his cigarette.

"Hey man, can I borrow your li-" 

Gerard felt a harsh strike to the cheek knock the cigarette out of his mouth and stumbled back a good two steps before he recovered. He tried to look up but felt two strong hands grab him by the ears, and his head cracked against Frank's knee so hard he saw stars.

"FUCK what the fuck, I-ah ah-" Wincing in pain, Gerard was being dragged to his feet by a handful of his hair. 

All friendliness was gone from Frank's eyes, replaced by icy anger. He yanked Gerard's head back roughly, sticking a finger in his face and biting out each word carefully and deliberately. "Don't you ever disrespect me on my own fucking property like that, EVER again, you hear me? Do you really think you can come into MY venue and do whatever you want?"

Staring back with wide, startled eyes, Gerard was stuck in an uncomfortable crouch and could only grip Frank's wrist so he wouldn't rip his hair out at the roots. The other man didn't budge an inch.

"Answer me when I fucking talk to you, Way. Did you really think I would let you damage my fucking property and get off without so much as a slap on the wrist?" It was clear he was expecting a response, and so Gerard shook his head, unable to speak out of shock and fear. "That's goddamn right, no. You do NOT want to fuck with me. I could make one phonecall and you faggots would never play another show in Jersey ever again."

Suddenly the death grip on his hair released, and Gerard fell back onto the wet asphalt roughly. He stared up at Frank, who stood over him calmly, lighting his own cigarette with a match before pulling the checkbook out of his pocket. He didn't raise so much as an eyebrow at Gerard as he wrote out the check.

"Stay on the fuckin ground." He warned. "If it weren't for the damage you need to work off, and the ticket sales you pull in, I'd ban you from ever stepping foot in the building. But...as it just so happens, you're the most lucrative group we've had here at The Tower, which is saying something. So you're gonna show up tonight with your fuckin brother and your friends. You're gonna play the goddamn set, you're gonna get paid, and you're not gonna leave the place a shithole this time."

Tearing the check out of the book, Frank folded it neatly in half, dropping it and his pack of matches on Gerard's chest. Then he turned and walked back inside.

"Break a leg tonight, Way."

Gerard made a note to himself not to ask this dude for a light ever again.

\------------

As Gerard walked home with a gash on his face from Frank Iero's ring, a bloody nose from Frank Iero's knee, and a fat fucking check from Frank Iero's pocketbook, his fear quickly turned to anger. And by the time he walked into him and Mikey's apartment, his anger had turned to spite.

"Whaaaaaaaat the fuck happened to you, man?" Mikey asked blithely from the couch, although he had already turned his attention back to his video game.

"The fuckin venue manager rocked my shit over that little mess we left last night…." Gerard emptied his pockets into the bowl by their door, carefully clipping the check to their refrigerator with a magnet advertising carpet cleaning. He pulled a nearly empty quart of milk out of the barren fridge and held it against his tender cheek for a second before unscrewing the lid and downing the last of it.

Looking away for another half second between combos, Mikey frowned from behind his fringe. "Pete?"

"No, Iero-the owner, whatever…"

This time Mikey paused the game entirely. "Frank Iero did that? To you?"

"We got the other show tonight and we are gonna bring the place down." Gerard decided in that moment. "Fuck that dude. Gay ass motherfucker…"

Mikey frowned even more and Gerard had the thought that he must really be worried if he passed up a chance to call him a gay homophobe.

"I don't think we should play there anymore."

"What? Why the fuck not? This is the biggest check we've gotten since we started this shit!"

"I don't like the idea of pissing Frank Iero off."

"Well I could give two shits how pissed off 'Frank Iero' gets I've been getting shredded by fuckers like him since high school. You know exactly what I mean when I-" 

Gerard knew Mikey had abandoned the argument at that point, he usually did when his brother got on a tear like this. But the frown that was still present on his face didn't go unnoticed. Just ignored. 

\------------

Frank Iero was at the Box Nyfe show that night. He had to make sure the porcelain fucker with the dirty mouth didn't pull the same shit, or he at least had to be there to react if he did.

Which he did.

\------------

"LISTEN TO ME, ALL YOU PUNK ROCK FUCKERS!!" Gerard felt like he was on fire inside and out as he stalked the edge of the stage, fueled by the smart he felt in his cheek everytime he spoke. "THERE IS A TIME, TO BE RESPECTFUL, AND TAKE THINGS IN MODERATION, TO TREAT THOSE AROUND YOU WITH RESPECT-"

The drums steadily pumping in the background made the diatribe sound like a call to arms. The crowd was restless, uneasy. Frank watched from the back next to his head of security, arms crossed and jaw set heavily.

"Don't fuckin do it…" He muttered to himself, upset with himself for how unnerved the frontman made him, unnerved in every way. Iero's didn't do this. They didn't let their emotions get the best of them.

"-NOW IS NOT THAT FUCKING TIME!!" Gerard flipped the switch on the crowd in that moment, eyes crazy and full of rebellion. "SO FOR THIS NEXT SONG I WANT YOU TO FORGET MODERATION, RESPECT NO ONE, AND LEAVE THE PLACE IN WORSE CONDITION THAN WE FOUND IT- LET'S GO!"

From the stage you could clearly see Frank in the back fuming, and two seconds into the riotous track he stormed off towards backstage angrily. Mikey tried to grab Gerard's attention and tell him to tone it the fuck down and every single time he did his brother would fly off in another direction like a man possessed.

\------------

Pete sidled up next to Gerard as SOON as he left the stage, talking just barely loud enough to be heard over the noise. "Hey, uh why are you doing this? You trying to get yourself killed? Cause Mr Iero doesn't mess around, Gerard, you gotta tone it down I'm serious or-"

Gerard, who had been ducking down to hear Pete in his ear, jerked his head up when the manager stopped talking and he felt someone approach them in the crowd. Frank looked just as enraged as he had been earlier that afternoon, but this time Gerard felt a little pride flutter in his chest, and he smirked.

"Let's go have another smoke, Way, think we gotta talk some more…"

"Y'know what I'm actually thinking about quitting," He mused, laughing despite neither of the two men in front of him even cracking a smile.

Frank rolled his eyes, grabbing Gerard by the collar of his leather jacket and yanking him through the crowd and towards the back door. "Not tonight."

"Gee?" Mikey came out of nowhere, worry in his eyes. "Gee everything alright?"

"No yeah it's all fine-" Gerard shot Mikey a grin, feeling his douchebag energy rising as Frank shoved him out the door. He knew exactly what was coming.

The dude was LIVID. He ran a tattooed hand through his carefully combed hair, and a strand fell out of place as he clenched his jaw. "You fucking, you just had to-"

He turned and slammed a fist into Gerard's stomach, knocking his wind out. Gasping like a fish out of water, Gerard clutched at Frank's shoulder as he doubled over in pain, but a smile still stained his face. The brick wall behind them acted happily as the only thing grounding Gerard as Frank landed punch after brutal punch to his stomach and ribs.

"Oh! Ah ah, unh, I-" He tried to speak but each strike hit a different organ or a different muscle or just a different cluster of nerve endings. They all brought their own brand of pain that made his brain go 'god fuck this hurts this hurts Gerard he's hurting you you goddamn twink why are you letting this happen??'

Gerard just took it, letting out gasps and cries as he held on for dear life and let the waves of pain roll over him. Frank was an expert at giving out beatings, Gerard was an expert at taking beatings. A little too much of an expert, actually. In the back of his mind he hoped his masochistic leanings weren't too terribly obvious as he groaned heavily into Frank's shoulder after the 10th or millionth punch. 

Shoving him away, the shorter man took a moment to compose himself, slicking his hair back before landing one sickening kick to Gerard's crotch that crippled him. "Get the fuck off of me. This isn't a fucking game."

"Oh fuck…" Blood rushing to Gerard's head, he looked up defiantly. "Are you sure about that?"

Frank's hand jerked, making Gerard flinch, but he didn't hit him again.

"You're playing next week."

This time Gerard's smile was painfully obvious, and it earned him a swift palm to the side of his head that left a matching gash on the other cheek. Frank was struggling to hold himself together, positively unnerved by Gerard and his careless attitude. He dropped to one knee, took another handful of Gerard's hair, and jerked him back to eye level.

"Listen here you worthless fucking whore, did I not make myself clear today? That your entire career rests on your gigs here?" 

Gerard watched him silently, still not fighting back, but watching. Watching and seeing every single emotion that Frank was trying to hide in his eyes as he hissed at him. That was always how bullies were. They attacked the things about you that they hated about themselves. Frank seemed to hate weakness, freedom, passion. 

He also definitely hated being gay.

"-talk to you, motherfucker. Did you hear what I just said?"

"I did." Gerard bit back, looking from Frank's eyes to his hair that had become disheveled again during their little meeting. "That doesn't mean I have to fucking take it lying down."

The hand in Gerard's hair tightened at this and made him wince, ready for another punch or slap or something, but Frank seemed to have his emotions under lock and key this time.

"Get back in there before your brother has a fit."


End file.
